


The Best Special Ramyun Ever In The Whole Wide World

by crankypanda



Category: Big Bang (Band), GTOP (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 20:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6023359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crankypanda/pseuds/crankypanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The continuing adventures of GD, T.O.P, and their daughter. (Or, aging is a bitch.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Special Ramyun Ever In The Whole Wide World

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a recent hangover. A sort-of sequel to [Ninety Eight and Three-Quarters Percent Guaranteed](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5243147) but set a few years later. As always, dedicated to my BFF El (ricebowling on AFF).

Jiyong wakes up the day after Hanbin's birthday party and immediately regrets it. His head is pounding, his limbs feel like spaghetti, and there's no mistaking the lingering taste of bile in his mouth. His back twinges as he sits up to survey the damage, squinting against the offensively bright sunlight pouring in from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

He's in the master bedroom, which means he somehow managed to make it home last night (this morning?), but he's on top of the covers and still in his street clothes, which means he probably passed out as soon as he stumbled in. He glances at the bedside table to check the time, and finds to his horror that it's already mid-afternoon. With a groan, he flops back down and drags a drool-stained pillow over his face.

He's well on his way back to dreamland when someone starts banging on the door, each knock bouncing off the walls and straight into his skull.

"Jiyong-appa!" Nari screeches, making him wince. "Are you up?"

Jiyong wants to say _no, I'm actually dead, please tell Seunghyun-appa to cremate me and put my ashes in a Versace urn,_ but all that comes out of his mouth is a barely audible croak.

There's a pause, then a shrill "He's _still_ sleeping!" that has him physically recoiling, followed by a flurry of footsteps that gradually fade away, and finally, sweet, blessed silence.

The next time he wakes, it's to the sound of someone moving around the room. He opens his eyes just as Seunghyun emerges from the walk-in closet, fiddling with the cufflinks on his dress shirt. He bends to pick up the trail of clothing he perpetually leaves on the floor, the slob, and Jiyong takes a moment to admire the fit of his pants before speaking.

"I feel like shit," he rasps, throat scratchy and raw.

"You look like it, too." Seunghyun doesn't even spare him a glance as he heads back into the closet, arms full of clothes.

"Thanks," Jiyong mutters. It's already dark outside, and the clock tells him it's 8:07 PM. The frantic throbbing in his head has subsided to a dull ache, and his body hurts in a familiar, manageable way, the way it used to after long hours of dance practice or a particularly grueling workout with Hwangssabu.

"I hope you aren't waiting for true love's kiss before getting up," Seunghyun calls out from inside the closet. "Because you smell like a fucking distillery."

"Fuck you," Jiyong says.

"Not in your current state, you won't," Seunghyun shoots back.

The world tilts slighty when Jiyong sits up, but quickly rights itself. He helps himself to the bottle of water and pack of painkillers thoughtfully laid out on the bedside table, and he feels almost human by the time Seunghyun reappears, skinny tie hanging loose around his neck.

"I'm pretty sure we've used that tie for nefarious purposes," he says, watching Seunghyun's pathetic attempt at a half-Windsor knot. Actually, he's certain of it: he vividly remembers how slippery the silk felt against his wrists, how the black stood in stark contrast to the pristine white sheets. His eyes meet Seunghyun's, twinkling with amusement, in the mirror, and he knows he remembers, too.

"I think this dinner counts as a nefarious purpose," Seunghyun says. The star-studded gala, sponsored by some chaebol, is exactly the type of stuffy affair Seunghyun normally avoids like the plague, having fully embraced his reclusive actor image. But he has a drama to promote, and contractual obligations to fulfill.

Jiyong runs a hand through his tangled hair. "What time are you leaving?"

"The agency's sending a car at eight-thirty." He looks down at his handiwork, frowning. "Is it supposed to look like this?"

Jiyong rolls his eyes. "Come here." He swings his legs over the side of the bed, and Seunghyun obediently comes to stand in between them. He reaches up and starts unraveling the mess Seunghyun's made.

"How's Nari?" he asks, looping the wider end of the tie over the narrow end once, then twice.

"Our darling daughter is convinced you ate something bad at Uncle Hanbin's party," Seunghyun says as Jiyong loops the wider end behind the newly-formed knot. "She tried calling him this morning to ask what you ate, but strangely, he wasn't picking up. He must be sick, too."

Jiyong dimly recalls Hanbin, egged on by his members, clambering on top of the bar and taking a swig of Château Pétrus (his and Seunghyun's gift) straight from the bottle before pouring the rest of the contents over himself.

"I'm getting flashbacks to my slutty twenties by asking this," Jiyong begins, sliding the tip of the tie through the knot, "but how did I get home last night?"

"Mino," Seunghyun says.

"Mino?" He'd challenged Jiyong to some sort of drinking game at some point, Jiyong had unwisely taken the bait, and the empty bottles of soju had rapidly multiplied from there. "He wasn't in any shape to drive."

"No, he wasn't," Seunghyun agrees. "You guys came in a cab. One or both of you threw up in it, by the way." Jiyong cringes as he tightens the tie. "Don't worry, the driver's a fan. He said you guys were really nice and even took a few selcas with him, so it's all good. Anyway, Mino was supposed to drop you off on his way home, but he passed out in the living room."

"Lightweight."

"You're one to talk. You passed out in the driveway. We had to drag you inside, caveman style."

"No wonder my arms feel like they're about to fall off," Jiyong says. He slips a finger under the knot and presses down, creating a dimple. "Mino still here?"

"No, he left at around seven. Said he had a lunch date he couldn't miss."

"The resilience of youth," Jiyong says wryly. He gives the tie one final tug before releasing it, then runs his hands down the front of Seunghyun's shirt, over the firm body underneath, under the pretense of smoothing out wrinkles. "All done."

"Just in time," Seunghyun says, stepping back. The clock says 8:25 PM. "Do you feel up to putting Nari to bed, or should I do the honors?"

"I'll do it," Jiyong says. He doesn't want Seunghyun to be late because of him, because Seunghyun's already late often enough because of himself.

"Okay." Seunghyun plants a quick peck on his cheek (probably the most physical contact he's willing to make with Jiyong's unwashed self) and moves away to finish getting ready. He sweeps out of the room shortly after, suit jacket draped carefully over his arm, with a "see you later" thrown over his shoulder.

Seunghyun leaves the door open, so Jiyong hears him saying goodbye to Nari. A few minutes later, the alarm on the bedside table beeps, signaling that the front door has been opened and shut properly.

Jiyong finally drags himself out of bed and into the bathroom. He grimaces at his reflection in the mirror: there are dark circles under his eyes, his face has a deathly pallor, and even under the flattering lighting he can see the fine lines no longer so easily hidden by makeup.

"Fuck," he says to his reflection. His reflection stares back glumly.

He quickly peels off his clothes, which are covered in enough suspicious stains that they probably classify as biohazards, and jumps into the shower. It goes a long way towards making him feel better, and once he's brushed his teeth and slipped into sweats, he feels more like a successful record company CEO who's in touch with his younger artists, and less like a club kid partying past his prime.

He stops by the kitchen to get more water. There's a bowl of steaming ramyun on the counter, covered by fogged-up cling wrap and a Post-It that says _BLOW ME 8==D_ in Seunghyun's chicken scratch, because he's an overgrown child.

"Jiyong-appa!" Nari comes galloping into the kitchen, long hair streaming behind her. "Seunghyun-appa said you're sick. Do you feel better now?"

"Yup," he says. "I just needed to rest and take my medicine." And undergo his weekly early onset midlife crisis.

"You should eat something," she says decisively. She points to the ramyun. "Seunghyun-appa made that for you. He made it the special way. I helped!"

"Really?" he asks in mock surprise. She nods enthusiastically. "Well, that makes it _extra_ special!"

He peels off the cling wrap and starts mixing the mayonnaise and pollack and fish roe with the noodles. Nari clambers onto the stool opposite him, watching eagerly for his reaction.

"Is it good?" she asks anxiously as he takes his first spoonful.

"Nari-yah," he says solemnly, and she leans forward in anticipation, "this is the best special ramyun _ever."_

She beams. "Is it the best special ramyun ever in the whole wide world?"

"It's the best special ramyun ever in the whole wide world," he confirms.

"I'll tell Seunghyun-appa!" she says, practically vibrating with glee. Jiyong gives her a thumbs up before turning back to the bowl.

"So what did you and Seunghyun-appa do today while I was sick?" he asks, after he's emptied the bowl and brought out ice cream bars for the two of them. (She's not supposed to have sweets after dinner, but she'd pouted at him, looking so much like Seunghyun, and just as he did with her father, Jiyong had folded like a house of cards.)

"We played football in the garden," she says in between bites, seemingly unmindful of the ice cream dribbling down her hand onto the countertop. "Seunghyun-appa was the goalie."

"Was he any good?" Jiyong asks. Nari's a striker on a local under-7s team, and their coach says she has potential. Where said potential came from, Jiyong has no idea, since he and Seunghyun don't have a single athletic bone between them.

"He was okay," she says diplomatically, which Jiyong interprets to mean he was about as useful as a traffic cone. "I scored lots of goals."

"That's great!" Jiyong says, smiling encouragingly. "At this rate, you'll be super ready for your game next week. Super duper ready. Super duper _kaduper_ ready!"

She giggles. "Appa, don't be silly! My game's _tomorrow._ So I'm just regular ready."

Jiyong turns to look at the calendar on the fridge, and sure enough, _8 AM - NARI'S FOOTBALL GAME! Olé, Olé, Olé!_ and a drawing of a soccer ball are written in tomorrow's box. He notes the venue written below and has to suppress a groan. It's an away game, and the field is an hour's drive away. Seunghyun has a late night tonight, so he'll be the one driving.

"Coach says we have to be extra early tomorrow," Nari adds. "We have to be there by seven o'clock AM sharp!"

"Coach is a sadist," Jiyong says before he can stop himself.

Nari frowns. "What's a sadist?"

Years of live performances have made Jiyong a master at improvisation. "He, uh, always tells you to say this. Or say that. Because he's your coach." He quickly changes the subject. "Are you done eating? Then it's time for bed. Big day tomorrow!"

Excitement for the game means that their bedtime routine goes much faster than usual. Nari washes her face, brushes her teeth, and changes into her pajamas without complaint, and Jiyong only has to read _Where The Wild Things Are_ once (generously embellished here and there to stretch out the story) before she's nodding off. He turns on her nightlight, a repurposed crown lightstick that she keeps on her bedside table, and quietly pads out of the room.

He's in the middle of preparing sandwiches for tomorrow when his phone vibrates in his pocket. It's Hanbin.

"You're alive," Jiyong says by way of greeting, phone wedged between his shoulder and ear as he slathers Nutella onto slices of whole-wheat bread.

"Barely," Hanbin says hoarsely. "I'm never drinking again, fuck."

"At least you don't have to be up at ass o'clock tomorrow for your kid's football game," Jiyong says.

"Shut up, hyung, that's no way to talk about a future World Cup winner." Hanbin's been wrapped around Nari's little finger ever since she announced that he was her favorite oppa, to Mino's eternal sorrow.

"Not that I mind," Jiyong begins, because he's not a regular CEO, he's a cool CEO, and gets drunk-dialed on a semi-regular basis by his artists, "but is there a point to this call?"

"You're no fun when you're hungover," Hanbin complains.

"I'm hanging up," Jiyong warns.

"Ugh, fine. Can you swing by the studio tomorrow afternoon? I finished all the tracks today, so you can listen to the demos if you want."

"You went into the studio today?" Jiyong's just as much of a workaholic as Hanbin, but even he can't imagine doing anything productive after last night's excesses. "Where do you get the energy?"

"Red Bull, mostly," Hanbin says. "Gives me wings and shit. So, can your senior citizen ass make it tomorrow?"

"I should fine you for that," Jiyong grumbles. "But sure. I can't wait to hear whatever fake deep lyrics and recycled beats you've come up with."

"See, normally I'd be insulted, but I'm chalking that up to your advanced age," Hanbin says. "Three PM sound good?"

"Yeah, okay." That leaves plenty of time for a post-game nap before heading to the studio.

"Great! See you tomorrow."

"See you," Jiyong echoes. "Happy birthday again, Hanbin. Take advantage of your thirty-second refractory period while you still can."

Hanbin laughs. "Thanks, old man," he says, and hangs up before Jiyong can reply.


End file.
